Band Aids, Head Injuries and A Very Sick Four Year Old
by audhds
Summary: John is unconscious with a head injury, Dean is ill, Sam is a baby and Bobby has to deal with three Winchesters at once...poor man! Fluff and some hurt / sickness. Hurt!John Sick!Dean Hurt!Dean Baby!Sam Wee!Chesters Wee!Dean Caring!Bobby


**Ok, ok, I admit, I am being attacked by fluffy plot bunnies!**

**Enjoy…**

**Band Aids, Head Injuries and A Very Sick Four Year Old**

Dean knew what he had to do. His daddy had given him instructions, no, orders about what to do in a situation like this. And besides, he was a big boy now, he could use a phone and everything, he had even memorized Bobby's number by heart – which had taken him a whole weekend!

Dean steeled himself and pressed the green button.

"Bobby?" Bobby could hear the fear in Dean's voice despite the child's attempt to cover it up.

"Hey kiddo, what's up? Where's your Dad?"

"Password?"

"Dean, it's me. I need you to tell me what's wrong."

"Password!"

"Dean is really, really super awesome." Bobby sighed, he would never, ever let Dean choose a password again.

"Hi Bobby."

"Hi, why d'ya call son?"

"Daddy's hurted. He's too sleepy and wont wake up."

"Where is your Daddy hurt, Dean?"

"His head was red and sticky. But I fixded it with a bandage like Daddy showed me."

"Ok dean, where are you at?"

"Motel."

"Which motel?"

"Ruby's Motel, Illinois. Room 26." Dean recited this proudly, trying to bite back the strange feeling in his tummy.

"Ok kiddo, I'm not too far away, I'll be with you in a couple of hours."

"Thank you."

"Dean, what about you and Sammy, are you two alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You don't sound so good kiddo."

"I don't feel very well, but Sammy is sleeping and I'll be good."

"Right, I'm on my way."

Dean sat down on his dad's bed and snuggled up next to him.

"Don't worry Daddy. You're gonna be good now…I called Uncle B."

With that Dean closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

**…SN…SN…SN…SN…**

Bobby clambered out of his truck, grabbed the first aid kit out of his bag and headed into the motel and over to room 26. He was dreading what he owudl find, by the sounds of things John was unconscious and had probably done some damage. Poor Dean, he felt so sorry for the kid having to deal with the consequences of his father's obsession.

He quickly wrapped at the door and smiled when he heard tiny footsteps. It had been far too long since he had seen the Winchester boys, months.

"Password."

"We've already been through this kiddo, Dean is really, really super awesome."

"UNCLE BOBBY!"

Dean threw himself into Bobby's arms and cuddled him close. His cheerful smile soon disappeared though as he remembered that his Daddy was hurt and his stomach twisted again.

"Bobby, help Daddy?"

"Yeah, sure kiddo, just let me get in the door."

"Ok."

Dean shuffled back and allowed Bobby into the room, walking over to his Dad's bed and sitting cross legged by his feet. Bobby followed close behind. He would have laughed his head off at the state of the bandage that the kid had applied to John's head, and the fact that John was covered in Batman and Superman band aids, but the situation was too serious.

John was a rather nasty shade of gray and it was clear that he had lost a lot of blood, despite Dean's best efforts.

"Dean, I need you to do something real important for me."

"What?"

"Can you go and take a shower?"

"Why? I wanna stay with Daddy."

"Yeah, but when your daddy wakes up, you don't want to be all stinky, do you?"

"No."

"Of you trot then."

Dean nodded and made his way to the tiny motel bathroom, dragging his heels slightly.

Well, it was easier to manipulate the kid than Bobby had hoped, he felt slightly bad, but he didn't want Dean to see John's head spilling out ooze and by the looks of things he would have to stitch up that thick noggin of his.

That was one thing Dean did not need to see, yet.

Bobby stitched John up with the background noise of the shower pounding at his ears. He had a headache and wanted to sleep, and have a beer. But no, the Winchesters had put an end to that plan for his evening off.

He had only just finished when Dean came back into the room and plonked himself down on John's bed next to Bobby.

"Bobby, I don't feel well."

"Just a second kiddo, I'm just gonna check your daddy's pulse."

"But-"

"Not now dean, one minute."

Bobby turned his attention back to John's wrist but was jerked away from the job in hand at the violent sound of Dean vomiting up what looked like a week's worth of food, all down himself, John's bed and the floor. A few splatters even landed on the walls.

"Oh, Dean. I'm sorry kid, I didn't realize you felt that bad."

"Sorry Bobby, I didn't mean it. But you told me not to move and-"

Tears began to stream down Dean's face and he paled, gagging a little.

"Woah there, easy Tiger."

"I was following orders." Bobby had never seen the kid look so morose.

"I know you were, don't worry, it wasn't your fault, it was mine."

Bobby scooped Dean into his arms and kissed him on the top of the head before carrying him to the bathroom, Dean's head resting on his shoulder. He was halfway there when he heard Dean retch again and felt warm liquid being expelled all down his back.

God that smelt awful!

Bobby felt Dean begin to sob before he heard the tell tale sniffles and moans, but he carried on, carrying dean into the bathroom and settling the shaking child in front of the toilet.

Dean rested his head on the rim of the toilet before beginning to gag again and again until eventually nothing else would come up.

And then the dry heaving began, which, once mixed with the sobbing cries, meant that Dean was struggling to breathe.

Bobby cautiously rubbed Dean's back in small, circular motions and whispered sweet nothings into his ear until Dean sagged with exhaustion.

Dean tried to stay strong, but let out the occasional sniffle and was forced to wipe the tears off his face before brokenly whispering Bobby's name. He just wanted to feel better. His tummy really felt bad and now his throat was burning too.

"You're alright Dean, it's all over now. How about a nice hot bath?"

Dean nodded glumly and allowed Bobby to strip him down to his Batman boxers and place him into a warm bath. He struggled a little, but eventually calmed down enough for Bobby to clean him off with a cloth.

Bobby could see Dean physically realizing as the heat soothed the spasms in his stomach and not long after Dean's eyelids drooped and his head lolled forwards.

He looked so tiny.

Bobby, who had taken the opportunity of Dean bathing to change into some of John's clean clothes, carefully lifted Dean out of the bath, toweled him dry and tucked him into the clean bed before turning his attention back to John.

He quickly stripped the bed of the vomit-soaked sheets and checked his pulse and breathing again. They were getting better by the minute.

As soon as he was about to settle down in a chair, Sammy started to cry at the top of his tiny lungs.

"Damned Winchesters, I swear they're conspiring against me!"

Bobby took the baby in his arms and began to rock him softly, feeding him a pot of apple sauce and changing his diaper before getting the youngest Winchester back to sleep.

God, John sure as hell owed him one!

Once satisfied that he wasn't going to be interrupted again, he shook John gingerly.

"Mmmmwha?" John groaned and batted at Bobby with one arm.

"Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty."

"Bobby?"

"Got it in one, not bad for an old man."

"If I'm old what are you?" John propped himself up a little and raised a hand to his heavily bandaged head.

"Don't fiddle with it, you bashed your head in pretty bad."

"I can feel that. Anyway, how the hell did you get here?"

"Car."

"You know what I mean, how did you know…"

"Dean called; he was pretty worried about you. You were unconscious for quite a while, and you probably have a concussion."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are. How many fingers?" Bobby held his middle finger in front of john, who laughed.

"Your bedside manner definitely hasn't improved."

"Idjit."

"Git."

Dean moaned softly in his sleep, drawing the attention of both hunters.

"Dean?" John shot up in his bed in an instant, hobbling over to his eldest son and wiping a hand through Dean's matted hair.

Dean stirred a little and peeled open his eyes.

"Daddy?"

"Hey son, how ya doin Ace?"

"I don't feel well Daddy."

"Ok, where hurts?"

"Tummy." Dean felt tears well up and his throat hurt with the stain of holding back his tears, but he didn't want to look weak in front of his Daddy.

"Ok son."

John lifted Dean up into his arms and cuddled him, rubbing his son's flat stomach with one hand and making his way over to the kitchenette, ignoring his pounding head.

He boiled the crappy kettle, which stank of mould and filled up the hot water bottle that he kept in the first aid kit.

"Hold that on your tummy, it'll help. I promise."

"Ok Daddy."

Dean did as he was told and cuddled his Dad, fisting his shirt before falling fast asleep.

"Well, it looks like it's your turn to play doctor."

"Yeah."

"Just avoid the band-aids."

"What?"

"You haven't looked in the mirror yet, have you?"

"No, why?"

John strode into the bathroom, placing Dean in bed on the way, and looked at the mirror.

"What the hell, band aids? Really?"

"Blame Dean, it wasn't me!"

"Tell me you didn't take a picture, please!"

There was a long silence…

"BOBBY!"

**The End**

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